


before the world fell at our feet

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity haven't seen one another in three years, ever since tragedy tore them apart. Now they are meeting, and it is painful and awkward. </p><p>*inspired by Adele's new song "Hello"</p>
            </blockquote>





	before the world fell at our feet

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for the pain this fic with inflict. Just place Adele. Send all complaints to her. ;)

Felicity paced the old loft as she waited.

The email ran through her mind, sending odd combinations of thrill and fear coursing through her veins. She was nervous. There was no doubt. It had been three years, though it seemed like three decades most days. A quiet, uneventful eternity within such an obviously short time. She hadn’t changed much, and from what she had seen of him online and on television, he hadn’t either. But she missed his voice. The way he hesitated to speak, carefully crafting his responses. The way he emphasised the syllables within her name when he was frustrated or in desperate need for her to stop talking. The way he used to whisper and moan her name.

The loft was empty. So bare and quiet, lacking the details they had thrown together to make it feel like home. No one lived there. He had moved out not long after she had. She hadn’t been surprised when she learned that; she had known the place would feel cavernous and cold to him once she left. That detail had always torn her apart. But he had never sold it. Never asked her for the key back.

She ceased her pacing by the window, gazing out onto the balcony they had stood on so many times. Kissing. Talking. Mourning. Fighting.

She shook herself out of the ugliness of those final months, opting for recollections of their happiness. The glorious happiness they had resided in on their travels. The simplicity of that domestic life in the suburbs. Without permission, the questions formed… the questions she repeatedly pushed away. _What might’ve happened if we had stayed there? What might’ve happened if we had gotten married there and had our child there? Would she still be here?_

She turned away from the windows and went to the stairs. She climbed them to the second floor and slowly, hesitantly, went into the bedroom. The room was dark, which suited her mood well and kept her from seeing the violent reminders that might set the tears to falling. The hole in the walls and doors, the size of his fists. The scratches in the paint from glasses she had thrown and shattered. Seeing those would trigger everything again.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood in the center of that room, her emails and voicemails replaying in her head, begging to meet and make amends. The short reply he had sent saying simply: _Sure._

She glanced at her phone to find the time long gone. He _should be here,_ she thought, her heart aching slightly. _He said he would be here._

 

After a few more minutes, she dialed his number; she still had it memorized despite repeated attempts to forget it. After a few rings, it went to voicemail. His voice soothed her and tore her apart all at once. “Hey, this is Oliver. I can’t answer my phone right now. Please leave a message and I will call you back.”

At the beep, she hesitated. _What do you say when the man you still love isn’t answering even though he should have met you at your old loft?_ Then she cleared her throat, sucking up her fear and letting her questions and discussion topics spill out in place of her tears. “Hey… it’s me. Felicity. I’m at the loft and you’re not. I suppose I should have expected this, but I just thought… well… I just thought that maybe it would be healing for us to meet.You said you’d be here. Maybe you’re running late…” She let her words hang there. Then she added: “Please tell me you’re just running late.”

She ended the message and slipped her phone into her coat pocket, hands trembling. She left their old bedroom and crossed the hall into their daughter’s old room. Still bright pink. Still fresh and airy. Still the object of their destruction. She tried to keep the old details at bay, but she couldn’t for long. She imagined the little bed in one corner, covered in butterfly bedding and far too many stuffed animals. She imagined the shelf scattered with toys and picture books and collectibles. She imagined the closet full of little dresses and shoes… a cuteness overload.

And then the horrors flashed. The room ransacked. The blood on the walls. The painful knowledge that they had failed at their most important job.

Her fingers wrapped around her phone as if of their own accord. She quickly dialed his number and was once again greeted with his voicemail. At the beep, she started shakily babbling. “Do you remember when I first told you I was pregnant? I was in the spare bedroom, just sitting on the floor staring at the wall. You were so worried when you found me in there. And then I asked you what you thought of painting the walls pink. At first you didn’t get it, and then you saw my hands on my tummy and you smiled the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. We didn’t even know if it was gonna be a girl or not. But I just had that feeling… I miss how happy you were. So foolishly happy…”

The voicemail cut her off. She let her words stick, sending them to him in the hope that he was actually screening her calls and messages.

The silence ate at her and she couldn’t take it anymore. She dialed the number again, impatient and hurt and completely vulnerable. Tears trickled down her cheeks unbidden. “Oliver, please…” she choked out into the phone, wiping the tears away. “I need you here. I’m trying here. I’m really trying… But maybe you don’t really care anymore. Maybe you’ve moved on. Maybe I need to do that… Maybe I’ve been holding out for something you’re on interested in. But please… just let me know for sure.”

She hung up the call and dropped the phone, not caring if the screen cracked. She could get another phone. She could replace tech, but she couldn’t replace the life and love she had lost. After a few seconds, she joined the phone in the center of the room, collapsing onto her knees as new tears spilled over. And she continued to wait for him.


End file.
